


Of Light Beguiled

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, References to Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galadriel pays a visit to Elwing  and is distressed with what she finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Light Beguiled

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Elleth's Tolkien Femslash Comment Fic Meme](http://elleth.dreamwidth.org/309910.html), with the prompt: _Elwing/Galadriel, we must away ere break of day._ But this is sadly lacking in femslash. I'm very sorry!

“I grow old and weary, waiting here,” Elwing said, as she looked out her window to the night sky bright with stars, and the silver sea that muttered and surged below her tall tower. Despite her words, she was young, absurdly so in the estimation of the Eldar. 

But Elwing was not of the Eldar, at least, not quite. She had grown into luminous womanhood already, and Galadriel was troubled, again, about the fate of the Half-Elven. She had a thread of a premonition, half-realized, that the her fate, and that of her family, was tied to this slender young woman, who looked out to the sea with such longing and such despair. 

“You will not wait long,” she said instead, walking to where Elwing stood, and putting a hand on her shoulder. Elwing’s hands flew to her chest, a practised gesture, but the Silmaril was not there. Her hands fell to her side, clenched. A thin line of worry appeared between her brows. 

Her face was like Lúthien’s and yet not, there were traces of Nimloth in her still (the way she lifted her brows reminded Galadriel of Celeborn too), and she had Dior’s beauty, Thingol’s pride, and Melian’s feyness. And of what of Beren did his granddaughter have, Galadriel could not knew. 

“It is secure,” Galadriel said, with a glance at the large and ornate vault on the west wall.

Elwing’s mouth lifted, but it was not a smile. “I know where it is, always.” After a pause, she sighed, shaking her dark head. “I hate it when people look at me and see only the dead.” 

“Then do not dwell in darkness and in doubt, for that is how the dead come among the living,” Galadriel said at last, her tone sharper than she wished. Had she not promised herself that she would be gentle with Elwing, this lost girl, her kinswoman for all that? But Galadriel was not given to soft words, and if she could command Elwing to be comforted, she would have. 

But Elwing seemed to take some strength in her words, however ungently delivered. “Yes!” she said, her grey eyes wide. “I prove to be a poor hostess indeed, more concerned of with my own sorrows than the comfort of my guests. Forgive me, cousin.” 

“There is nothing to forgive.” Galadriel took Elwing’s hands, which were cold and stiff. Elwing smiled, and shook her head. She called then for more lights, and bread and wine. 

Soon, they were seated in on a large and spacious balcony, overlooking the white cliffs and dark water below. The clouds had drifted away, and the moon shone down on the bay. The roar of the surf was muffled, this high up, but still it was their constant companion. The balcony doors were flanked by two large stone pots, overflowing with night-blooming flowers. 

The smell of jasmine mixed with salt that lingered in the air floated over to them, rich and heady. 

Galadriel’s limbs ached from the day’s hard riding, but she did not long for sleep. But Elwing curled up on a chaise longue, a light blanket wrapped around her. “Do you mind if I take a little rest? I’m very --” she yawned, “tired lately.” 

“No, not at all,” Galadriel said, smiling. It was a peaceful time then, with the summer breeze blowing not too cold, and the moon was brilliant, almost equal to Telperion’s light. Hours seemed to slip away as quickly as minutes, as the moon tracked its way across the the horizon, until Galadriel was stirred by a muffled shout and a tray falling to ground. 

She turned to see Elwing sprawling on the marble floor, her face frozen in terror. She was still asleep, though she roused herself as soon as Galadriel came to her, and bent down. “Where is it? Why is it not with me?” She clutched convulsively at the front of Galadriel’s gown. 

“Hush, hush,” Galadriel said, putting her arms around the young woman’s shaking frame. She lead Elwing back to her seat, and they sat together, until Elwing’s breathing became more regular. 

“I dreamt,” she said, already becoming distant, “I dreamt that they had come back, more terrible than they were in my childhood. I dreamt that Eärendil was there and he tried to stop them, he tried to greet them as kin, and they cut him down where he stood. They came and came until I was the only one left alive. Again. And all the dead around me, my family, all the dead of Doriath, even those of my husband’s people -- they all cried out for justice, and I could do nothing. I was helpless against them.” 

She touched her stomach, and said, “They killed me and took the jewel.” 

Galadriel’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. “Could you, perhaps, acquiesce to their demands --” 

She bit back the rest of her sentence. It was too abrupt -- too sudden. She had meant to broach the subject gradually over the course of her long-planned visit. But it was too late now for any such delicacy. 

Elwing shook her head. “I cannot.” She looked at Galadriel, pleadingly. “Do you not understand? _I cannot._ If I gave it up, it would make all of their sacrifices worth nothing. How could I face them again, even in Mandos, if they knew that I placed my life over the thing they had given their lives for?”

“Elwing, my dear...” 

“I am so afraid that I will fail. Oh, Galadriel! What will happen if I should fail? I will not be able to live with myself then.” 

“Hush,” Galadriel said, a note of command in her voice. She pressed a kiss on Elwing’s damp forehead. The wind picked up with a long whistle and made the gauzy curtains at the door whip around, like a flurry of wings. “You will not fail.” 

“Have you seen it?” 

“You know I cannot tell you that.”

Slowly, Elwing nodded. She got up slowly and went inside. Galadriel waited, trying to dismiss the growing feeling of dread around her. When Elwing returned, she was wearing the Silmaril around her neck. Its glow was such that all else seemed to fade and grow dark. The moon, sinking slowly to the west, paled and grew insignificant. 

Elwing touched the jewel reverently and gave a bright, brittle laugh. Her fingers seemed to grow translucent against the light. 

“I do not know why I fear! It is a lucky thing,” she twirled around her fingers, smiling still. “I should not go without it.” 

Galadriel did not speak. She did not have anything else to say. She left the next day, with Elwing’s distant blessing. The woman stood by the white gates of the Havens, still lit by the jewel, unearthly and untouchable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Elleth, for taking a look at it! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [White Gulls Call (The Light on the Water Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602182) by [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth)




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